


A Matter of Time

by cristianoronaldo



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristianoronaldo/pseuds/cristianoronaldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>snippets and crack!pairings</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

> doesn't connect to real life even slightly. timelines are way off.   
> there's no point to these. the sergio/xavi one is my favorite though   
> I didn't edit these, so watch out for typos

“So how is he?” Xabi asked. He was curious when drunk. Much more entertaining than his scholarly, polite, normal self. Jose thought everyone was more interesting when they were drunk. 

 

“How is who?” 

 

Xabi groaned. The cap to his bottle fell to the floor with a clang, but he made no move to retrieve it. “How many tanned-to-bacon-crisp superstars are you fucking, Calleti?” 

 

Jose smiled. “Just the one, I suppose.” 

 

Xabi gestured with his beer, and Sergio turned to watch the conversation amusedly, pleased because, for once, he wasn’t the one making a fool of himself. “So how is he?” Xabi asked again. “You know, in bed. I’ve always wondered how someone like him....” He drifted off like the rest was unimportant. 

 

“Selfish, impatient.” Jose paused, shrugged, touched his chin thoughtfully. “Very good.” 

 

“How good?” This time it was Sergio, and Xabi was sitting back in his chair, satisfied with the vague answer. Even drunk he was still more polite than a sober Sergio. 

 

Jose looked up from studying his hands. “Frighteningly good.” 

 

+ 

 

“It’d be better if you weren’t so evil, you know,” Jose said, and they were sitting on Cristiano’s couch, watching TV. Cristiano picked at a hole in his shorts. He thought about throwing them away. He didn’t answer. 

 

The next time Jose spoke, it was low and serious, and a little bit whiny. “You should know that, that you mess with people’s minds.” He paused, and Cristiano could hear his sharp, angry intake of breath. “You mess with _my_ mind anyway.” 

 

“I know,” Cristiano said. He put a hand on Jose’s arm as if that made things better. “I’m sorry if I do.” He said it honestly, genuinely, and that was like a punch in the gut. That sorry was all he had to say. _Sorry_ not _I’ll change_. 

 

+ 

 

Iker was bored and tired, so he took his time at his locker, and Mesut said something, asking if he could stick around so they could talk, and Iker rubbed at his eyes with the back of his fists because he really didn’t want to struggle through a whole conversation listening to Mesut’s broken Spanish with his German accent. He made almost indistinguishable sounds, and Iker really wasn’t in the mood. 

 

But he stuck around anyway, and he floated through the conversation by just nodding and rubbing his hands together, touching Mesut’s arm every now and again to prove he was listening, but really his mind was a million miles away and he didn’t catch a word of what his teammate was actually saying. 

 

Something about the roommate situation at their next away game. Mesut didn’t want to be placed with someone because apparently they had a lovers’ quarrel, and Iker didn’t want to hear about that either because he was captain and he wasn’t supposed to get in the middle of shit like that, although that hadn’t really stopped him when it had to do with his enormous fuck-up of a coach the season before. He ignored that nagging reminder. 

 

“Iker?” 

 

He looked up, slowly and guiltily. “Uh, yeah?” 

 

“I was just wondering if I could not be placed with Sami this time around?” 

 

Iker raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?” 

 

Mesut made a face that Iker couldn’t figure out. “Yeah.” 

 

“Can I ask why not?” He tried to appear diplomatic, like a concerned captain but not too interested so it looked like he was going to gossip to the rest of the team about it. 

 

“We spend a lot of time together.” He made the face again. “We love each other, you know? Best. Best friends. But there comes a time when friends--” He cut off and made a hand motion. Iker’s eyes widened, _what, they fucked_? Mesut did it again with his hands. “They break apart, you know? Friends don’t always stay that close, and I am worried that Sami and I are too close.” He gestured with his hands. “And then we will break.” 

 

“So. You.” Iker scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably. “But you and Sami aren’t... I mean. What I mean to ask is-- You and Sami are just friends, right?” _Please no inter-team romances_ , he prayed, _please_. 

 

Mesut shook his head. “No, of course not. We’re best friends.” 

 

“Yes.” Iker was struggling not to laugh. “But I mean, you’re _just_ friends?” 

 

Mesut looked confused one last time, and then he nodded quickly. “Ah, yes, I understand. Just friends. But I would prefer a different roommate, if that’s possible? I don’t mean to complain.” 

 

Iker nodded. He picked up his bag. “Yeah, no problem. You can room with me.” 

 

“But doesn’t Sergio normally room with you?” 

 

“Yeah, we can put Sergio in the lobby or something.” 

 

+ 

 

Fernando was quiet, and David’s silence spoke volumes. Both injured, both confined to their rooms, bored and alone despite the company of the other. Fernando felt like calling his wife and telling her that it was awful and he felt like quitting everything, but he didn’t want to seem weak, and David was just silent and miserable looking, but at least he wasn’t running to his fucking wife. 

 

Fernando set his phone down on the table, and David looked up from his phone. “You think they’re out celebrating right now?” 

 

“Well.” Fernando crossed his arms over his chest. “They don’t have to worry about aggravating any injuries now, do they?” 

 

“So, yeah, probably.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

The room was quiet again, and then Fernando looked at David and he thought about the World Cup, and how David had been so good and Fernando had been the exact opposite, a complete disappointment, and he felt an irrational flash of anger. 

 

“What is it?” David asked, bored, petulant, feeling Fernando’s gaze. 

 

“Just thinking.” 

 

“You’re always thinking, always stuck in your own head. Maybe if you spent a little more time outside of it, I’d like you better.” 

 

Fernando shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Are you saying you don’t like me?” 

 

“No,” David answered, sounding appalled, but he didn’t look at Fernando, just down at the phone in his lap. “I’d never come out and say something like that. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the beautiful harmony that already exists in this squad.” 

 

“Yeah,” Fernando said, surprising even himself by laughing, “Especially with Sergio and Xavi. So fucking harmonious.” 

 

“It’s melodic, really. The way they yell at each other.” 

 

“They’re lucky they have us next to them instead of Iker.” Fernando started to smile again, and he pictured Iker’s face going from happy and smiling to outraged and attentive as he listened to the sound of Sergio and Xavi yelling at each other. 

 

David snorted. “He would have told for sure.” 

 

“He’s like a child with all that rule-following and all those morals.” 

 

“It’s exhausting to talk to him.” David sighed. Both their smiles dropped almost instantly. “But at least he’s not confined to his room.” 

 

“We’re prisoners,” Fernando said mournfully. 

 

+ 

 

Sergio left his towels dirty and wet on the floor. He picked up his toothbrush, began to brush his teeth, but then remembered something across the room. He smiled, shaking his head, muttering under his breath, speaking to no one but himself. He dropped the toothbrush on the counter, left the toothpaste open and sticking to the counter, and crossed the room to bend over, naked, and retrieve something from his suitcase. Cologne. 

 

Xavi sniffed the air cautiously as Sergio sprayed. It wasn’t that bad until Sergio sprayed half the bottle on himself, and then Xavi felt like choking. He was like an over-eager seventeen year old with his first bottle of expensive cologne, practically dumping the whole bottle on himself because he wanted other people to smell the money he’d wasted. 

 

“Is that really necessary?” Xavi flipped through the newspaper, not looking up again. 

 

Sergio wandered back over to the bathroom, chirping under his breath about how he’d just gotten the bottle on sale, and how beautiful it was, and how wonderful it smelled, and how the essence of it just really went well with his hair. He spoke quietly but enthusiastically, like he knew Xavi didn’t want to pay attention, but he wanted to say it anyway, so he compromised. Low voice, under his breath, enthusiasm ringing true. 

 

“I don’t care,” Xavi murmured. He flipped through a few more pages of the newspaper before remembering he didn’t really care about any of that either. He dumped the paper, stretched himself out on the table in front of him, and decided to just shut his eyes for a few minutes before someone came around with directions to where they were eating dinner because there was no way in hell they were eating another night in the hotel. 

 

And just when Xavi had gotten himself to relax: “Are you sleeping?” Sergio practically cackled. “Didn’t you get enough last night? You sleep like a coma patient.” 

 

“Sergio,” Xavi snapped, appalled. “I’m tired. And that’s rude. And go, I don’t know, dye your hair again or something.” 

 

“Actually, did you know dyeing your hair too many times can lead to unhealthy hair?” Sergio’s eyes were wide, his palms spread and fingers wiggling excitedly like he honestly thought he was teaching his roommate something valuable. 

 

“Everyone knows that, Sergio.” Short, clipped, brutal. 

 

Sergio’s face fell. “Well, yeah, but.” He looked wounded and annoyed. “This is why I told Iker our roommate situation wouldn’t work out. You don’t listen to me, and when I try and actually tell you something interesting, you just pretend you already knew it. It’s obnoxious, Xavi. Ob-nox-ious. Do you know what that means, huh? Huh?” 

 

“Yeah, actually, according to Webster’s Ninth Edition, it’s ‘of or relating to you fucking off.’” 

 

Sergio smiled poisonously. “You’re really funny, Xavi.” He plucked at the towel he’d just settled over himself, thoughtful, and then stripped it off so he was naked again. He smiled sweetly, inching forward because he knew it made Xavi uncomfortable. He walked back to his suitcase and bent over again. 

 

Xavi shielded his eyes, and groaned. “Can you please put your dick away for, like, five seconds? Literally, all I see while rooming with you is dick. Dick. Dick. And more dick. And the occasional pussy. Yeah, don’t think I’m asleep when you sneak those girls in. I’m not sleeping. I’m waiting. To kill you.” 

 

They glared at each other, and Xavi was about to say something insulting about Sergio’s cologne again when there was a knock on the door. It sounded like Iker’s knock. “Guys?” he called. “Uh, dinner in, like, ten minutes, okay? We’re going to walk down together, and eat at that place on the corner. It’s, like, sushi or something.” 

 

“I hate sushi,” Xavi grumbled, but he raised his voice to say, “Yeah, okay, thanks. Once Sergio fucking puts some clothes on, we’ll be there.” 

 

Iker groaned. “Oh, just come on ahead without him. He’s just trying to annoy you by being slow.” 

 

Xavi stood up, stuck his middle finger up to Sergio, waved it around for good measure, and left, slamming the door behind him. Sergio smiled. He uncapped his cologne again. He walked over to Xavi’s bed. Turned the bottle over and let the rest of the liquid spill out. 


End file.
